Page 50 of Easy Reunion
Clara’s eyes get round. “Would she sign it too?”
I laugh and hand Clara a pen. “I bet she would if you ask her.”
“Not until we get your picture,” Morgan interrupts. “Clara, why don’t you go behind the table with Ms. Kee.”
Clara comes behind the table and wraps her thin arms around me. “Ms. Kee, can I ask a question?”
“Of course.”
“Is that your real name? Nana said she didn’t think it was.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “No, sweetheart. It isn’t.” I won’t lie though it would have been easier.
“Why not? If you wrote this book, why’s your real name not on it?” Ah, the beautiful simplicity of childhood before reality spoils it.
“Because, sweetheart, sometimes people can not be nice, so you have to come up with a special name to protect yourself,” I try to explain simply.
The little boy next in line says boldly, “I like it. It reminds me of the name King Kong.” He lets out a roar to the delight of the other kids, who laugh.
My eyes drift to Ry, who’s still against the back wall. He’s as pale as the white wall behind him. “Yes, I guess it does kind of remind you of King Kong.” Turning my attention back to Morgan and Clara, I say, “Now smile and say ‘strength’!”
We both do before she scrambles off. Soon, I’m onto the next boy, the one who thought my pen name was cool.
Damn right it is.
* * *
An hour later,the last child approaches. It’s the boy I saw in the audience earlier. I don’t hesitate before standing and walking around the table. I hold out my hand. “I’m Kee. I noticed you in the audience.”
He mumbles something. I bend down, not letting go of his hand. “Darlin’, I’m sorry. If it’s just me because it’s been so loud in here, I’ll apologize. But I didn’t catch your name.”
Lifting his head, I see he has one blue eye and one brown; the brown appears to have either a faint birthmark surrounding it or a bruise. More clearly, though still softly, he says, “I’m Max.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Max,” I say sincerely.
He shrugs as if indifferent, but I see a light flush cover his neck. A neck with small skin tags on it, I notice. “Tell me, Max, what do you like to do?” I ask casually while reaching for the last of every book.
He greedily takes in the stack I’m accumulating in front of me. “I love to read. Like, a lot.”
“What grade are you in?”
“I’ll…I’ll…”
“Take your time,” I say softly.
He rushes out. “I’ll be going into ninth grade in the fall, ma’am.”
“Kee,” I correct him. “Or Ms. Kee. I’m going to be around the center quite a bit.”
“But no one wants to be around me ’cause I’m too ugly,” he blurts out. “Even my momma left ’cause I have a face that would break a mirror.” And a tear I’m sure he’d rather die than surrender slides out of one of his unusual eyes.
And when that happens, my heart shatters into a million pieces. How did I think I could be healed by writing a bunch of words when there are children who need to see there are people who will stand behind the things they say?
“Max, why don’t you join me over here?” I cajole softly.
Slowly, the teen shuffles around the table, his whole body strung tight in anticipation of another rejection. In his hands, there’s a dog-eared copy ofBetrayal—the first book I ever wrote. “What was your favorite part of the story?” I ask him, nodding at the book in his hand.
“The first time Pilar stands up for herself,” he answers without hesitation. Then, in a moment I know I’ll never forget, he begins to quote me to me, “I hope the time I spend enduring this is guiding me toward something. Otherwise…”
